"A Sunday Walk" given April 30, 2017

 A few years ago, I was channel surfing one night -- taking a break in my sermonizing at home, and I happened to catch one of those numerous hokey Jesus movies that get shown on cable this time of year. I can’t recall which one it was—but there were no “Hollywood faces” in it.. Usually I skip those movies, but as soon as I turned it on, I realized the scene portrayed was this very incident—Jesus on the road to Emmaus. So I thought—maybe I can borrow something from the flick to use in my sermon.

You know how they handled the fact that Cleopas and his companion didn’t recognize Jesus? The actor playing Jesus pulled his robe up over his head like a hood or prayer shawl and held it closed in front of his face!

Well, the shouting from the living room woke poor Donna up!

“No, no, no! Whatta think he was being there, the masked Messiah? He wasn’t hiding his face! It’s a theological point! It’s a metaphor! They recognized him in the breaking of bread! “

At that point, my wife came out of the bedroom and informed me I had stayed up waaay too late that night, and that I was never ever again allowed to drink anything with caffeine in it after 1 am. Grudgingly I acquiesced, after humming the William Tell Overture and muttering sarcastically about Cleopas wondering who was that masked stranger and his companion replying I don’t know, but whoever he was, he left us this silver communion chalice.

It was the evening of the first Easter. These two disciples of course, didn't know it was Easter. They simply thought it was just the first day of their working week. They didn't believe that Jesus had risen from the grave-- they thought he was dead. They didn't know about the Victory-- they thought it was a defeat. They had given up.

All we know about these two Jerusalem based followers of Jesus is the name of one of them-- Cleopas. (Why the other one is not named is not altogether clear. Apparently it was someone who didn’t need to be named because he or she was always be in Cleopas’ company—perhaps a brother, or Mrs. Cleopas, or Cleopas Jr., or a good friend—like David with Jonathan. We don’t know.) What we do know is that whoever they were, the two of them had simply given up. They were wearily trudging the road back to Emmaus—lost in despair and self-pity.

All we know for a fact about Emmaus itself is Luke’s comment that it was about seven miles away from the city at that time. You won’t see Emmaus on any tours of Israel. Emmaus as a historical site has been lost. Probably over the centuries the old city just grew up and around Emmaus without anyone remembering where it was. Likely as not the actual historical site of Emmaus is a kosher pizza parlor in the modern part of Jerusalem nowadays.

Some scholars think that Emmaus wasn't a real village anyway. Rather, they believe it was a military barracks for the Roman army of occupation. If that’s so, these two disciples, would have been live-in servants in the barracks.

If that was the case, then for Cleopas and his unnamed companion, Emmaus would have been a symbol of their economic and political servitude. And that particular Sunday evening, it would have been something more-- a symbol of hope defeated, possibility squelched, new life nipped in the bud, faith shattered.

The Gospels make it clear that Jesus had been received as a king in Jerusalem, just the week before. Obviously the two disciples had cherished great hopes that this rabbi they followed-- this Jesus of Nazareth-- would manifest himself as the so long-awaited Messiah, changing their whole world.

It had been that hope that had caused them to ask for the Passover weekend off. They had hoped that Jesus would put an end to their struggle for equity and justice. They had hoped that he would restore Israel's glory. They had hoped that their political oppression would end, that their economic and spiritual exploitation would cease, that justice and righteousness would flow down like living waters unto Israel.

. Now they were on their way back to Emmaus, but nothing that they had hoped would happen had happened. Instead, they had seen Jesus arrested, tried, tortured, and executed. Maybe they had even witnessed him hanging there on the cross. Maybe they had even heard the report that he had risen. But if so, they didn’t get it. All they knew was that the reborn Kingdom of David, the righteous reign of the Messiah had not been instituted.

A stranger joined them on the road. You and I know who it is, but Cleopas and his companion did not. He asked them why they were so upset, and they told him their story. They found themselves opening their hearts and shared their deepest pain, their shattered hopes. The stranger then proceeded to interpret the happenings of Holy Week for the two of them in the light of the Hebrew Scriptures.

Having arrived at their home, the stranger made as if to proceed further. But they insisted he stay with them, because it was getting dark, and just like today, it was not all that safe to be out alone at night. So the stranger stayed.

The three of them sat down for a humble meal. And then, oddly enough, the stranger broke the bread. He was the guest, and they were the hosts, but he took their bread and he blessed and broke it. He gave a piece to Cleopas, and he gave a piece to the other disciple.

Then, suddenly, the stranger was no longer physically present with them. Then, and only then, did they recognize the man who had just been with them. Their hearts, they later said, had been strangely warmed as they walked in His Presence. And they understood. From now on, it was going to be up to them. He would live in their hearts.

They arose from the table—after all, it is a resurrection story. And they walked out of their home and back out into the night. And somehow the night must not have seemed nearly as dark or dangerous as it previously had. They walked all the way back to Jerusalem, where the victory had started-- presumably still carrying that blessed bread in their hands.

If we take this most beautiful of the Resurrection stories seriously, we can see in it a blueprint for living our lives as Christians—as Easter people. Cleopas and whoever it was, went for a Sunday walk. But just like this passage, it was more than a simple, literal walk. It was also a metaphor. Their journey was more than physical-- it was also spiritual. They were walking on the pilgrimage of faith.

And the journey began for them in the depths of pain and depression, hurt and disappointment-- just like it does for so many of us. What they talked about as they walked we don‘t know exactly. But then they heard the footsteps of the Risen One behind them, met Him, and shared their stories and their deepest pain with one another-- and with Him.

It wasn’t just, that He interpreted for them, in the larger context, the meaning of His death. It was also the fact that He was able to truly be with them-- talking and listening and sharing and teaching them-- that allowed the two discouraged disciples to see the possibilities and realities of new life-- life lived within the context of saving faith.

They listened. They heard. They shared. But did they grasp it with their lives? Six centuries after Luke recorded this Gospel story, Pope Gregory the Great pointed out that you and I encounter God in our midst in exactly the same way that Cleopas and his un-named companion did on the road to Emmaus. The Creator is made known to us by the burning in our hearts. The Spirit is made known in the shared love of God, existing between us. The Christ is made known in the breaking of bread.

Indeed, our God becomes known to us precisely when you and I journey together, honestly opening up, bridging the gap between us and sharing with one another the most pressing questions and most profound needs of our innermost spirits-- our deepest grief and pain, our greatest joys and hopes.

That’s when we finally discover who we are-- as we learn to accept, and forgive, and love one another. That’s when we realize the acceptance and forgiving love that our Maker has for us. And then, we find ourselves gathered in celebration for the holy meal. And at last we find our faith deepened and our hearts warmed and enriched.

Former President Jimmy Carter wrote:

“…it’s easy, even for dedicated Christians, to put off opening the door to Jesus. We want to be good Christians, but when it’s more convenient, at least not today. “Just wait,” we say, “until we reach retirement age—or our kids get out of college—or we make the last house payment. Then we’ll try to put into our lives the kinds of things we would want to do if Christ were here.

But Christ Jesus is here, right now. And when we open our hearts to other people, particularly those who are different from us, we are opening the door to him. This is a practical way that Christians can take a major step toward realizing the constant presence of our Savior. He says so specifically: “As ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).

Carter adds that When you and I take such a step, “our eyes are opened, as were those of the disciples; we expand our lives, escape from the cages we build around ourselves, and enter a new environment of surprises, adventure, and real gratification. This is some of what Cleopas and companion learned on the way to Emmaus.

Emmaus, that place where the risen Christ appeared to his despondent disciples, is not just an obscure place lost to History. Nor is it even just an historical event. Emmaus is that place, that time when the living Christ appears to us, is present with us, stands beside us in undeniable reality. Emmaus is here-- now-- in you-- in me-- in our sharing-- in the cup and the bread. Emmaus-- the experience of the risen Christ, keeps on happening in our world—all the time. The stranger who is a Savior walks with us along our lives pilgrimage. And he beckons, he invites, he yearns for us to invite him to stay with us and invite him into our hearts—all the time.

There was once a little boy who decided he wanted to find God. He knew it would probably be a long trip, so he decided to pack a lunch—four packs of Twinkies and two cans of root beer. He set out on his journey and went a few blocks until he came to a park. On one of the park benches sat an old woman looking at the pigeons.

The little boy sat down beside her and watched the pigeons too. When he grew hungry, he pulled out some Twinkies. As he ate, he noticed the woman watching him, so he offered her one.

She accepted it gratefully and smiled at him. He thought she had the most beautiful smile in the world. Wanting to see it again, he opened a can of root beer and offered her the other one. Once again she smiled that beautiful smile.

For a long time the two sat on that park bench eating Twinkies, drinking root beer, smiling at each other, and watching the pigeons. Neither said a word. Finally, the little boy realized that it was getting late and he needed to go home. He started to leave, took a few steps, turned back and gave the woman a big hug. Her smile was brighter than ever before.

When he arrived home, his mother noticed that he was happy, but strangely quiet.

‘What did you do today?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I had lunch in the park with God,’ he said. Before his mother could reply, he added, ‘You know, she has the most beautiful smile in the world.’

Meanwhile, the old woman left the park and returned to her home.

Her son noticed something different about her.

‘What did you do today, Mom?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I ate Twinkies and drank root beer in the park with God.” And before her son could say anything at all, she added,

‘You know, He’s a lot younger than I imagined.’” Amen.

"Touch and Go" Low Easter 2017

Poor Thomas! Ever since that episode in this morning's Gospel Reading, he's been getting a bad press in sermons and Bible studies. He'd been stuck with the nickname of "Doubting Thomas". For close to two thousand years, we preachers have been giving old Thomas a hard time on this Sunday after Easter.

"Old Doubting Thomas who couldn't believe unless he saw the wounds-- we all need a stronger faith then that." Or, "Don't be a Doubting Thomas in your religion". We've made him into a negative example. But truth be told, I think Thomas deserves a better shake than he's gotten over the centuries.

Probably the worst thing you can say about Thomas was that imagination wasn't his strongest suit. He was the kind of person who called a spade a spade. He was a realist, maybe a bit of a pessimist as well. But basically Thomas was just a hard-headed, feet-on-the-ground, glass-is-half-empty kind of guy.

I don't know, maybe he was from Missouri. We all know the type. I’m married to one of them—someone from Missouri I mean. A solid, no-nonsense, everyday, meat-and-potatoes kind of person. Maybe he simply wasn't too quick to believe in fairy stories.

But Thomas did believe in Jesus. A bit earlier in John's Gospel, we read that when Jesus announced to the women and the Twelve that He was about to go to his death in Jerusalem, everybody was taken back. All the others sat around in shock. wondering what to do, but Thomas reacted. He rose to his feet, looked around the circle and announced that if Jesus was going to Jerusalem to die, then, "Let us join him and go die with him." No, not much imagination-- but a whole truckload of loyalty.

Then, at the Last Supper--The Lord again got onto the topic of his coming Passion and Death. Jesus began spouting all kinds of lofty and beautiful and obscure language about how He would go away soon, but that it wouldn't last forever. Jesus began describing how He would prepare a place in God’s mansions for His friends and followers.

Then Jesus told them that He would be waiting for them when they got to where He was about to go---where there would be plenty of room for everybody—in the mansions. And he added, that when they all got there too, they'd all be together again, with him and with God--there, where He was now going, just as He and God were together--where they all were now, presumably. But they, of course, knew the way to where Jesus was going. And of course, Jesus added, they also understood all that He was speaking of, and one day they'd all be there with him themselves. (Where He was going, that is—the previously referred to place with plenty of room.)

Nobody breathed a word. Maybe because nobody wanted to the first one to ask Jesus what in the world He was talking about. But Thomas couldn't hold back. He couldn't just sit there and pretend that he got Jesus' point, when the plain fact was, he didn't get it. What he did understand however, was that Jesus was talking about leaving them. And if Thomas knew one thing it was that where Jesus went, he wanted to be there, too. So at the risk of appearing a bit dense, Thomas jumped in, feet first.

"Excuse me Rabbi, but I'm afraid you've lost me here. Would you mind saying all that again--this time in plain language? Personally, I don't know where it is that you're talking about going. But I do know that I want to go with you—wherever that it. So tell me please, what path do I take? What road do I follow? Which way do I take to get to where you're going?"

Thomas wasn't much of a theologian, but he loved his Lord. And then he fed Jesus probably the great straight line of all time. "Which way?" He asked. And Jesus—being Jesus, couldn’t pass up a teaching moment—or a punchline—and especially a pun.

"I am the way", Jesus replied. And Thomas let it go at that. But I can't help but wonder if Thomas still didn't get what Jesus was driving at. Jesus wasn't a road or a street. He was a dear friend, a holy man, a wondrous healer and a beloved teacher. But from Thomas’ point of view at least, it was too bad that Jesus would now and then insist in speaking in riddles.

And then, in the next few days, all of Jesus’ followers worst fears were realized. All of the things Thomas and the rest had secretly dreaded, all of the things Jesus had previously spoken of in parables and riddles came crashing down upon them. And now, all of a sudden, Jesus was dead—just as dead as He’d said He would be. Thomas was sure of that. No doubt faithful, loyal Thomas finally ended up at the cross, and saw the body taken down. There was no doubt of it, Jesus was dead.

But then came this strange report of an empty tomb from Mary and the other women. And then, this unreal occurrence as the rest of them sat around in the upper room with the doors barred and the windows shut. They had gathered there, scared stiff of the Romans, scared stiff that they'd be the next ones nailed to a tree, but too lonely and sad to separate and scatter back to their old lives in Galilee. Suddenly Jesus walked through the locked door.

He said "Shalom". He wished them his peace--just as He had at the Last Supper. And then He showed them where the nails had pierced his hands, where the spear had stabbed his side--just to convince them that it really was him. Then He breathed his Holy Spirit into them and was gone.

Thomas hadn't been there. It just goes to show that you never know who might show up in church on the one Sunday you decide to sleep in. We have no idea where Thomas was. One good thing about not having much imagination is that you're far less likely to work yourself into a panic when things get tough.

Maybe Thomas really was sleeping in. Or maybe he was off in the park feeding the pigeons and thinking things over. Maybe he was taking a long walk, trying to figure out what to do next with his life now that Jesus was dead. Maybe Thomas just ducked out for a sandwich and coffee. Maybe he was the one making the run to the local McDonald's for supper. In any case, he wasn't there.

When Thomas got back, and when the others told him what had happened, his reaction was about what you'd expect. Maybe it was because he doubted. Or maybe it was because he didn't have enough faith or imagination or whatever it took. Or maybe Thomas doubted because of their reactions.

They claimed to have seen the Risen Christ. They said they'd talked to him, been touched by him. Jesus had been raised up from the dead! And what were they doing about it? Were they out telling the world? Were they proclaiming the good news in the streets? Were they shouting it from the housetops?

Reading the Scriptures, it looks like all that the disciples were doing was hanging around the Upper Room waiting for Jesus to show up again. They gave no signs, no indication. They made no witness that this marvelous Resurrection had meant anything at all in their everyday lives. They gave no evidence that the Holy Spirit had been breathed into them. They were just sitting there, reveling in the after-glow of their recent mystic experience and waiting for their next spiritual high. That was why Thomas couldn't believe that they had really been confronted with their Risen Lord. They weren’t acting like it!

Whatever the reason, Thomas made it clear. He wasn't going to take their word for it. He would not just settle for simply seeing Jesus. He, Thomas, would want to touch the scars, he would insist upon sticking his finger into the wounds before he'd swallow such an improbable load of nonsense.

Maybe that sounds hard-headed to us--not to say a bit macabre. You'd think that the word of his trusted friends would be enough for Thomas. But it wasn't. Faith, you see, is ultimately a matter of show and tell.

True faith is a matter of showing one another where it still hurts and telling where we've been healed from where it used to hurt. True faith does not conceal the struggles, or deny the doubts. Rather, it accepts them as a part of the price of full and authentic human living. Faith is brutally honest about the pain of life, and about the pain that can come in the process of believing. And real faith goes on believing, even without having all the answers to all the mysteries and tragedies of life. Show and tell.

Thomas must have understood that in a way that the others did not. Sure, Thomas was having doubts--doubts are part and parcel of the process of acquiring a living, dynamic faith. We read the story and we assume that Thomas was having trouble believing that Jesus had come back to life.

But maybe Thomas was having a lot more trouble dealing with the question of why Jesus had to die in the first place. Thomas must have remembered the sight of Jesus hanging on the cross and known that it must have hurt. He knew that Jesus had died--not pretend died, not in a deep sleep, nor in a coma, but died DEAD.

Sure Thomas had doubts. Who wouldn't? What an absolutely illogical, improbable, utterly ridiculous story! That a good man like Jesus would have to die for and be raised up by a good God from death for us! An innocent man? A teacher, a healer, a loving man like Jesus? Why did He have to die? And even though He did get raised up, why was it all necessary in the first place? Why?

Sure Thomas had doubts. Who wouldn't? Frederick Buechner calls doubts the ants in the pants of faith. Who hasn't had them now and then? Meeting our doubts squarely, and dealing with them, or going on living with them if we have to does more than merely make our faith stronger. Doubts keep our faith hungry and searching. They are at the heart of living faith. Look what happened to Thomas!

Seven days after that initial visit, Jesus came back to them in that room. For all we know, the others may well have been sitting there waiting for Jesus all week long. This time though, Thomas was there. Thomas saw his Lord. Thomas heard his Savior call him by name. Jesus showed him the scars, shared the pain, offered to let Thomas touch him.

And in doing that, Jesus gave us a model for coming together in His Name. Show and Tell.

But that was enough. Now, seeing was believing. Now, no more answers were needed. The Risen Lord’s presence was enough. Even unimaginative, hard-headed, honest, doubting, loyal Thomas had seen enough. Now he knew that Shalom—that blessed peace that passes all human understanding that Jesus had promised. Thomas had passed through all his doubts and his questioning, and as he emerged from them, he fell to his knees in faith. All Thomas could do was cry out, "My Lord and My God!"

"My Lord and my God." The single most straight-forward, explicit affirmation of faith in the entire Bible. The most succinct and moving definition of who Jesus was and is, in the entire New Testament. "My Lord and My God". Maybe old Thomas wasn't such a bad Theologian after all.

From that day on, Thomas' life was changed. On that day Thomas the realist, Thomas the unimaginative, Thomas the questioner, Thomas the honest doubter became Thomas the man of faith. Thomas the Apostle, St. Thomas--father of the church in Asia. Legend says that Thomas rose from his knees and carried the Good News all the way to India. Even today the Christians of South India claim Thomas as their founder.

Show and tell--Jesus showed him and Thomas told—to the ends of the earth as am matter of fact. We all struggle with our beliefs. We all have awakened in the middle of the night and wrestled with a horrid, cold sense that the Universe is empty. We all are tempted occasionally to compromise our principles. We all backslide now and then. We all question and doubt at times. There's no shame, no sin in questioning. We’ve all been hurt or felt alone in the universe and wondered “why?”

It's part of the nature of our human-ness, of our faith. It's part of who we are. I suppose that if you and I would have had the opportunity to actually be there--to have met Jesus face-to-face, to have actually touched those scars, heard his teachings, witnessed those healings, then maybe we'd never have had any doubts. Maybe. But that's all beside the point.

The fact is, that like every other generation of believers that came after Thomas and the rest, you and I have not met Jesus face-to-face, in the flesh, here on this earth. So it's for us that the story of Thomas was recorded. That we might hear the witness--that we might encounter Jesus in our hearts and believe. There in the Upper Room, John records that Jesus told Thomas,

"Blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe." That's not for Thomas. That’s a blessing for you and me.

When we fall on our knees in faith—blessed are we. When we keep on sharing, keep on telling the story in the face of rejection and ridicule—blessed are we.

When we question, when we struggle, when we doubt and don’t understand--and yet still go on--blessed are we. When we still go on seeking Jesus' face, still go on living for Him, still go on believing in spite of all the nagging doubts and unanswered questions--blessed are we.

When we finally stop looking for that rose garden he never promised, and simply give thanks for his presence in the tough times, blessed are we. When we recognize that we’ll never have all the answers, never be totally free from doubt in this world—blessed are we. When we don't understand it, when the answers won't come, or come and make no sense and yet we still believe, still go on--blessed are we. When we are touched—and we go forth—blessed are we. Let us pray.

Though we cannot see your face in this life, still Lord Jesus, we struggle to believe. We struggle to follow, we struggle to conquer our doubts, we struggle to still go on. Be with us Savior, and show us your face. Show us your face in the faces of loved ones. Show us your face in the face of friends and family, fellow church members and our models in the faith. Show us your face in the faces of strangers in need. Show us your face in our deepest hearts and in our everyday lives, that we might believe, that we might be blessed. Amen.

"Without A Vision" ES 4/16/2017

 Though Jesus' followers weren’t physically dead in those horrible hours after his Crucifixion-- emotionally and spiritually, they would have been walking cadavers. If there is one phrase or verse of Scripture that would have described the disciples and the women followers of Jesus in that first Holy Saturday, it would have to been Proverbs 29:18, "Without a vision, the people perish."

They had no vision. Or rather, they no longer had a vision. On the very first Easter morning, Mary Magdalene and the others didn’t walk to Jesus' tomb in anticipation of his resurrection-- but rather to complete His burial. Mary was crushed. Her closest friend, her mentor, her teacher, her rabboni, her Lord was dead!

If like me, you're a Les Miseables fan, you're familiar with the haunting song that Marius sings after his friends have been killed in an ill-fated rebellion:

There's a grief that can't be spoken

There's a pain goes on and on

Empty chairs at empty tables

my friends are dead and gone.

It must have been something like that for Jesus' followers after his crucifixion. We read in Luke's Gospel a story of that first Easter afternoon on the road to Emmaus. Two of Jesus' followers speak of their dashed hopes by saying, ". . . we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel."

Notice the past tense. They had hoped. Hope is a fragile entity. Hope unrequited is a cruel emotion. They had hoped, but now they hope no more. Hope died when Jesus died, and who can blame the disciples for their despair?

Not only was their master, their dear friend dead, but they had to be wondering-- if the Romans would kill Jesus, then why wouldn't they next go after his followers? And even if that didn’t happened, or even if they survived, they would certainly face considerable scorn from family and community for wasting three years in following a dead Messiah. They had risked, they had hoped . . . but now they hoped no more. “Without a vision, without a hope.... the people will perish.”

The hope-- the good news of Easter is that the story doesn't end with the women anointing a life-less body. It doesn't end with a dozen disillusioned former disciples running back to Galilee, returning to their fishing boats, retreating into their old, safe, humdrum lives. And it need not end with you and I giving up our search for joy and purpose and meaning-- for new life.

Easter ends at an empty tomb. Easter ends with Mary testifying to her frightened and discouraged friends: "I have seen the Lord." Easter ends with the disciples opening their eyes to Jesus as he breaks bread with them. And, if you and I keep the faith, the Easter Vision can continue bringing us hope and new life, giving us so

much more to us than chocolate bunnies, ham dinners and adding Turf-Builder to the lawn.

Jesus' resurrection is a positive answer to the question raised in an extended parable called the Book of Job-- written centuries earlier. Just like the disciples, Job's world had come crashing down around him. He lost his property, his health and even his family.

In his pain, Job asked a question he could not answer, "If a person dies can he or she live again?" Later in the narrative, Job would dare to ask, to pray, to hope, "I know that my Redeemer must live!"

“Without a vision the people perish” The Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth is the answer to Job's question. A man or a woman can rise from the dead. Our Redeemer does indeed live-- and is risen! That Resurrection is God's answer to the riddle of death. Just as Christ passed through death to everlasting life-- so shall we. Death then, becomes no more than another stage of our existence-- an event-- like birth, that is lived through.

That's the Easter faith. That’s the Christian hope. But there's still more. Easter isn't just a promise of "pie in the sky when you die". Easter can mean new life-- here and now!

Carol was the organist at her church. She was an outstanding musician, but she did something no organist should ever do. She overslept on Easter morning and missed the Sunrise Service.

She was utterly embarrassed. Of course, the pastor and the church forgave her. They teased her about it a little, but it was done lovingly and in good fun.

However, the next Easter, her phone rang at 5:00 in the morning. Jolted awake by the loud ringing, she scrambled to answer it. It was the pastor, and he said, "Carol, it's Easter morning! The Lord is risen! ... And I suggest you do the same!"

We smile, but behind our smiles we know that one way or another, we all can find ourselves in Carol’s story. More than on that light-hearted level though, one way or another we can all find ourselves in the Easter story. We all can recall those moments in our lives when we have thought, "I had hoped, but I hope no more."

We have all had to face our own personal Good Fridays-- often more than once in our lives-- a broken relationship, an untimely death, a battle with addiction, inappropriate behavior or feelings that embarrassed us, a disappointment in the workplace, a struggle with meaning and faith. We have all of us known what it is to feel totally buried in the tomb of sin and self and pain. We have all descended to the hell of despair and hopelessness. We have all needed our own personal resurrections-- more than once-- on this troubled and tear-soaked planet.

Friends, it’s Easter morning! The Lord is risen! ... And I suggest you and I do the same!

We too can be resurrected. Christ has shared His Resurrection with us. He rises, and so can we. We too can have new life-- on this plane of existence and on whatever lies beyond it. We too can have a vision.

“Where there is no vision, the people perish.” If we take that to be a truth, then its opposite must also be true: "Where there is a vision there is life."

That first Easter morning, Mary Magdalene and the disciples of Jesus, who had no hope when Jesus died, received new hope-- a reborn, magnificent hope, a vision and purpose that far surpassed anything they could ever have imagined. For Mary, it happened when the risen Christ called her name. For Peter and the Beloved One, it happend when they saw that the tomb was empty.

For two other disciples, it happened along the road to Emmaus. In the breaking of bread, Jesus made himself known. The disciples knew that their Redeemer lives. Their hearts were strangely warmed. Their hope was reborn.

Emily Dickenson wrote:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all,

The forces of hopelessness and death are still much alive in this world. We can see them in the tragedy of ethnic hatred, in the exploitation of the drug trade, in the violence that still stalks our streets and even invades our schools. If we despair, if you and I give in to those demonic forces of evil and exploitation which enslave, dispossess and murder, then sin and wrong will indeed triumph. And that will be the moment when our vision will die-- and we will indeed perish.

But death does not have the last word. There is another way. There is a vision. It is the vision of the risen Christ conquering death. It is a vision of the people of God standing up against sin and evil in the name of the fragile little bird called hope.

In the finale of Les Miserables, as the aged Jean Valjean is finally called to his heavenly reward, escorted by the spirits of the dead Fontine and Epoine. As the scene unfolds, the spirits of the slain students appear and begin to softly sing

They will live again in freedom

in the garden of the Lord,

They will walk behind the plowshare,

they will put away the sword,

The chains will be broken

and all men shall have their reward,

Whenever the people of God refuse to despair, whenever you and I refuse to allow evil the upper hand in our lives, or in the lives of nations, or of corporations, or of the guy down the street-- we do more than simply strike a blow for good. We make known the Risen Lord in the world. We join in hastening the coming of Christ's Kingdom. We make real that vision of new life. We live again in freedom

As long as men and women reach out to neighbors in need, as long as God's Easter people stand up against hate and wrong in the workplace, the classroom, the streets, the world-- as long as evil is resisted, as long as hope is nourished and celebrated, God's victory is sure. Easter comes again into this world.

“O Death where is your victory, O Death, where is your sting?”

When he was Vice-President ,George H. Bush wrote of represented our country at the funeral of Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev. The funeral ceremony was conducted with military precision and icy coldness. There were no prayers, no hymns, no words of comfort for the bereaved friends and family, and obviously no mention of God.

At last the time came for Mrs. Brezhnev to step forward for her final good-bye. She stood motionless until the very last minute. Then just as the soldiers were preparing to close the lid on the casket, Mrs. Brezhnev took one last look at her husband, leaned forward and traced the sign of the cross on his chest . . .

There in the citadel of secular, atheistic power, the wife of the man who had run it all dared to hope that her husband was wrong. She hoped that there was another life, and that that life was best represented by Jesus who died on the cross, and that the same Jesus might yet have mercy on her husband.

In that single act, God broke through the core of the Communist system."

Our God still can and does break through the core of systems which enslave. The stones of hatred and oppression, violence and genocide, despair and futility are still rolled away. And when they do, surely heaven itself breaks out in its own Hallelujah Chorus:

"And he shall reign forever and ever!"

May this be a most blessed Easter for you! May this be a day of Resurrection for all of us. May this be a moment in our lives when despair is replaced with hope, hatred with love, broken-ness with healing, death with new life. Alleluia! He is Risen! Amen

"When Your Messiah Dies" GF 4/14/2017

 On June 12, 1994, the aged Rabbi Menachem Schneerson expired after months in a comatose condition. Rabbi Schneerson was a kindly little man who loved his fellow Jews and the Jewish religion. In return, he was greatly loved and respected by all Jews. He was something of a paradox. He had received his Ph.D. from the Sorbonne, but some of the beliefs he promoted were based on old superstitions. He had been proclaimed "Grand Rabbi" of the Lubavitch movement of Judaism, but seemed to possess a genuine humility.

Through Rabbi Schneerson's visionary leadership, many of his followers were rescued from the Holocaust. Because of his vision, these ultra- Orthodox Hasidic Jews, who dressed more like they belonged in Eighteenth Century Europe than today, were able to expand and multiply. They even managed to attract young people who had grown up in secular and Reformed Jewish homes.

All of Rabbi Schneerson's followers revered him as a great spiritual leader, but ultimately, some of them came to say of him what he would never say of himself. They claimed that he was the Messiah. They called him the Moshiach, the Righteous One, the prophet, priest and King who would accomplish world redemption, bring the gentiles to the light of Judaism and the God of Moses and deliver all of humankind.

These hopeful followers placed ads in secular newspapers around the world, hailing him as "King Messiah". They placed his face on roadside billboards in Israel. They reveled and danced at the wailing wall in Jerusalem to celebrate his birthday. They shared stories of his mystical understandings, his intellectual prowess, and yes even miracles that he was supposed to have accomplished. They even had a telethon in this county to honor him,

Rabbi Schneerson never made any of those claims about himself. Unfortunately, Rabbi Schneerson never denied those claims, either. Then, at ninety-two years of age, the Grand Rabbi of the Lubavitch sect of the Hasidim, died.

So what do you do, when your Messiah dies? What do you do when your deepest hope evaporates-- when you are confronted with the fact that what you thought of a person was not true? What do you do, what do you think, what are you to believe when you realize that the one in whom you had placed your faith is not able to deliver as you had hoped?

This was not the first time in history that our Jewish sisters and brothers have been disappointed in their Messianic hopes. Throughout the centuries, Israel has longed for God's Messiah to come and deliver her as promised in Scripture. Many persons of great stature have arisen in the Jewish community. Some were political heroes, and others were greatly beloved spiritual leaders. But all of them were less than God's promised Messiah. All of them died. None came back. None of them accomplished world deliverance.

When Rabbi Schneerson died, the hopes of his followers who longed for him to be the Messiah were dashed. That's what happens when your ultimate hope is placed in the wrong person.

In some ways, Rabbi Schneerson was like King Uzziah who lived and died during the lifetime of the Prophet Isaiah. Many had thought that Uzziah was the "promised deliverer". He reformed the faith of Israel and worship practices in the Temple in many ways. He implemented an extensive public works program in Israel. He led the nation real prosperity. Then he died.

What do you do when your Messiah dies? We know what the prophet Isaiah of Jerusalem did. Isaiah 6:1 tells us that he went to the Temple in Jerusalem. There and then, the Almighty One, reached down from the Throne of Heaven and touched this grieving, confused, lost follower with an experience of God's own living presence.

Suddenly he was in the Heavenly Temple—standing at the foot of God’s Throne. When Isaiah saw the Holy One high and lifted up, the prophet discovered what was ultimately important. The Temple was filled with smoke and incense and with the songs of praise of the heavenly train of angels, above, before, and behind. Their chant rent the air. "Holy, holy, holy is the Ruler of Hosts. The whole earth is full of God's glory!"

Isaiah responded by falling to his face repenting. "Woe is me, for I am undone! I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips." Then, in a grand gesture of grace, God sent one of the angels down to touch Isaiah and cleanse him of his sins. Then, God presented this newly forgiven servant with an opportunity to serve. "Whom shall I send?" Asked the Holy One. "And who will go for us?"

"Here am I," responded Isaiah. "Send me." God's call is like that. The Divine Will is always presented to us as opportunity. We may say yes, or no. This right to choose our response, to go or stay, is the same right that we have to live a life of faithfulness and integrity, or a life of sin. Sin isn't always what we do. It can also be what we fail to do.

Faced with the ordinary disappointments of life, you and I always have a choice. How will we respond? We may frown, express our disappointment in many ways. We may grieve or even lose faith. But if we're mature, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get on with the business of living.

As you and I know all too well, even in the lives of the faithful, grave disappointments will sooner or later arise-- the kind that can flatten us. We may lose a mate, a parent, even-- God forbid-- a child. We may have to go through a divorce, a critical illness, the loss of a love, a job, or even our home.

Our Messiah may die. At those times, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off and starting all over again isn't so easy. Our emotions are numbed. Our minds won't focus. We feel incapable of acting. We look for meaning, or an explanation, or someone to blame. All we are capable of is wanting the pain to end. Even then, we can still choose our response.

At such terrible times, at such Good Friday moments, you and I need to be able to ride out our troubled emotions. We need a complete re-orientation of our souls. We need a complete rehabilitation of our hearts. We need, like Isaiah in the year that King Uzziah died, to experience a compete revivification of our wills. We need an utter renewal of our faith.

At such times you and I can only find our peace in God and in Christ Jesus, the

true Messiah. As we bring our broken hearts and shattered dreams into the presence of God, we will eventually come to find a new hope, a new help, a new holiness. As we encounter the Almighty, we repent and are changed. We are healed.

As Christians, you and I have placed our faith in Jesus, the only risen Messiah. As His followers, we have the gift of the Presence of the Holy Spirit to convict us of our wrong choices and endow us with the strength to survive, to repent, to accept forgiveness, to go on, to come to the Altar of the Almighty and receive new life, new purpose, renewed faith.

As Christians you and I must sooner or later come to know that our only solace, our only wisdom, lies not in spiritual leaders, but in God alone. Sooner or later even the most holy rabbi or pastor or guru will fail us. Ultimately people will fail us. Ultimately all messiahs will die.

What do you do when your Messiah dies? You can rationalize, you can blame, you can grieve, you can lose faith, you can become bitter, you can even kid yourself into continuing to cling to your vain and shattered hopes. But in the end, none of these will work.

When your messiah dies, when the thing or person in whom you have imvested ultimate trust lets you down, you and I can only look to God for solace. As we repent of our misplaced trust, the Almighty One can bring healing and restoration. As the Psalms remind us, Our God is always willing to cleanse and renew a contrite heart and mend a broken spirit.

What do you do when your Messiah dies? You and I only need to be willing to seek a new direction and a new choice. The prophet Isaiah chose to serve the true and living God. You and I can choose to do the same thing. Amen.

"The Stones Would Cry Out" given April 9, 2017

If we stop and think about it, a number of the events of the first Palm Sunday are a bit puzzling. That’s not to say that we shouldn’t believe the story, of course. But some of the things recorded take some thinking over. Growing up in Twentieth Century North America, we have been so nourished by comic books and Disney and Hollywood's version of the Bible that we might very easily give these events an other worldly, almost magical interpretation. That’s an interpretation that makes little sense, however when we consider the everyday realities of human life and nature.

When Jesus sends his advance party of disciples into Jerusalem to locate a donkey for him to ride, they just walk up and take it. They offer no more explanation than to say, "The Lord has need of it." It never occurs to us to imagine the colt's owner saying,

"What Lord? Who are you talking about? Who do you think you are, wise guy? Hey! Come back here with my donkey! Stop thief!"

That's certainly what would happen in Chicago, or Gurnee, or even Lindenhurst. Yet, according to all of the Gospel accounts, it doesn't happen. Did Jesus use mental telepathy to convince the colt's owner to allow a scruffy looking bunch of strangers to walk away with must have been one of his most valuable possessions?

The same thing happens a bit later when the disciples run into a man, walking down the street carrying a jar of water-- just as Jesus told them they would. They follow him up to his home, and calmly inquire if the room is ready where the Teacher and his disciples are to celebrate the Passover. How did Jesus know they'd run into that guy? How did the man just happen to have a room prepared in his attic with a table set for thirteen? Did Jesus work a minor miracle of some sort here as well?

I hope these questions don't seem disrespectful or sacrilegious to you. The point of asking questions like this is to make our faith more mature. When the Bible makes sense to us, it becomes more believable. Unless Jesus becomes for us something more than a heavenly magician who does tricks for His disciples' convenience, we can never come to know Him as the Incarnate One-- a fully human man who, in ways we can never totally understand or explain, came to us from God and reveals for us the face of our Creator.

So it's important for us to think about who this Jesus truly was. It's important to try and understand the Bible. It's important today, to try and understand the events of the first Palm Sunday, and of Holy Week itself.

Palm Sunday gets its name because, according to John's Gospel, the people of Jerusalem waved palm branches to greet Jesus as he entered the city. We probably assume those were simply the most convenient branches lying around-- after all, you always see a palm tree or two in most Hollywood Bible epics. But the fact is, palm trees can't grow in the mountainous area around Jerusalem.

The nearest place that palm trees grow in any abundance is Jericho-- fifteen miles away. Palm fronds do not usually fall from the trees-- they must be cut loose. If you've ever seen a palm tree you know that they can grow very high. Somebody must have known Jesus' plans, and shimmed uup the trees, and cut the fronds in advance and brought them to Jerusalem for the occasion.

Why all this fuss over palm branches? Just as an olive branch symbolizes peace and harmony in our world, the palm branch was a symbol of the struggle for political independence of the Hebrew people. The palm branch was the symbol inscribed on coins during the reign of King David. When Jesus did enter the city, we read that the crowds greeted him with the cry, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed be the One who comes in the name of our God." "Hosanna" literally means "save us now". The first scriptural use of the word "Salvation" is found in the Book of Genesis, where it refers to Moses' deliverance of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt.

A contemporary paraphrase of the people's greeting of Jesus would be, "Free us now, Free us now, Son of David. Blessed was the reign of our ancestor David, that is now about to be reinstated." And that greeting was as politically provocative as the orchestra at Rick’s place playing the Marseilles to drown out the Nazis singing the Horst Wessel Song in the movie Casablanca

We don't know if Jesus had anything to do with the choice of palm branches to greet Him. We don't know if Jesus approved of the cries of "Hosanna". But one thing we do know-- He refused to silence His followers.

"If I silenced them, the very stones would cry out." He says in Luke’s Gospel. And yet all the Gospel accounts make it clear that the decision to enter the city riding on a donkey was Jesus' and Jesus' alone. The donkey is seen as a humble, peaceful beast, as opposed to the horse, a military symbol.

Christian pacifists like to cite that choice of Jesus' and I think they are correct. Jesus was symbolically forswearing a violent revolution, and He was, at the same time fulfilling the words of the Prophet Zachariah,

"Shout aloud daughter of Jerusalem, for see, your king is coming to you... his victory gained, humble and mounted on an ass."

The use of a donkey, a beast of burden in a politically provocative demonstration (right on the heels of his cleansing of the Temple), could only mean that Jesus was indeed declaring himself as a Messiah who would not only be a ruler, but a servant as well. Servant of God, and servant of God's people, Jesus was saying that in the New Jerusalem yet to come, rulers would not lord it over people. Jesus was calling all rulers to be servants first, and kings, prime ministers and presidents second.

Our Lord reinforced this idea at the Last Supper, when, clad in a towel, He took the role of servant to wash the disciples' feet. The new Kingdom, the New Jerusalem, God’s Coming Realm of Shalom that Jesus preached will be a Holy Commonwealth based on equity, based on justice, free of economic and class distinctions, free of racial prejudice.

It will be a way of life without oppression, without exploitation, without racism or ageism or sexism. Jesus was preaching, and living out with His entrance into the city of Jerusalem, a totally new religious and political and economic and social and intellectual reality for all of humanity—of all colors and tongues ages and gender orientations.

The palm branches, the donkey, the arrangements for the use of the Upper Room, the occupation and cleansing of the Temple all suggest a pre- arranged plan. I have no problem in believing that Jesus thought out the events of His ministry in advance. I'm sure that Jesus knew exactly what He was doing all along.

All this requires that, as well as those who traveled with him, Jesus also had a network of converts and followers who stayed in their homes in Jerusalem, or Bethany, or Galilee, or Samaria, or wherever they happened to live. The Jerusalem based contingent of that extended support network would have been the organizers and workers behind the scenes of the first Palm Sunday. These folks, people like Mary and Martha and Lazarus, and you and me; along with Peter and John and James and Mary Magdalene and the other traveling disciples would have, later on, together formed the core of the earliest church.

Out of the teachings of Jesus, out of the faithfulness of His followers, out of their hard work and devotion to His cause, out of His marvelous teachings and genuine miracles, out of his ultimate sacrifice on the cross, and the wonder of His Resurrection, out of the work of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, out of Jesus' dream of God's coming Reign would, as we know, emerge a movement-- the church.

In the church, Jesus' dream would be shared and reborn, nurtured, reshaped even twisted at times to some extent, by human collaboration with it over the centuries. But the dream remains. Even when the church has strayed from what Jesus was trying to do and say--the promise of that coming New Jerusalem of Peace-- built on peace and justice-- remains.

The Gospel records remain. We need to read it with open and inquiring minds as well as with believing hearts. Blind faith is not enough. You and I are called to be informed, active, inquiring, intelligent, and involved in our faith.

Our faith must become more than sitting around waiting and praying for miracles or visions from Heaven. Believing requires more than intellectual assent. It means giving your heart. It means following.

And following means taking Jesus as the model for our everyday lives and relationships. It means striving to make his earthly body—the church more just, more holy, more humane, more godly. It means giving our hearts, living our lives and dying our deaths for him—alongside him—with him—in him—for the sake of the world.

Otherwise you and I will never get around to taking responsibility for our lives, to taking responsibility for the shape of this broken world that our God has called us to live in, and better, and transform. Otherwise this world we live upon and love so much will continue to go its’ merry way to Hell in a bucket.

Like those anonymous disciples working in the city to orchestrate Jesus' arrival, you and I are called to do all in our power to work, to share, and to further Jesus' dream of the Divine Realm of justice and equity and freedom from oppression and liberation from the power of sin.

We are invited to help build that Holy New Jerusalem-- with our prayers, our presence, our gifts, and our service-- with our minds, our hearts, our souls, our lives.

Maybe we won't get the full message. Maybe we’ll never all agree-- much less understand all of the things that puzzle us about life and discipleship and Scripture. But you and I are still called to dream, to vision, to believe, and finally to give our lives in the day to day living out of that dream.

Let us pray.

God of infinite power. We praise you for Jesus Christ, who came riding into the city of Jerusalem on a lowly beast, victorious through love, and not through violence. Help us to learn the true meaning of power and glory through Christ, who though He was one with you, took on the form of a servant and shared our human life and sufferings. We praise you for the vision of equity and justice in your love that He lived out for us, and died to plant in our world. May we truly join you in participating in the life and the struggles of the world's peoples, to our joy and to your glory. Amen.